


Before You Go

by anatomical_heart



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Arguably Happy Ending, Bisexual Tommy, Coming Out, Consensual Drunken Make-Outs, Lovett Leaves D.C. for L.A. fic, M/M, The D.C. Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 14:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15269322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatomical_heart/pseuds/anatomical_heart
Summary: Tommy and Lovett share a bottle and a quiet moment at the end of the night before he leaves D.C. for L.A.





	Before You Go

**Author's Note:**

> Written prior to Tommy's wedding. And that's all I'll say about that.

They’re sitting on the hardwood floor of Lovett’s freshly-gutted room, still faintly smelling of pine-sol, and passing a bottle of booze back and forth. They’re sitting on the only other piece of furniture still in the room—a sad mattress with a too-big fitted sheet wrapped around it; a blanket, towel, top sheet, and pillow are all wadded up and shoved up against the wall on the other side of Lovett. A small desk lamp sits in the corner and is the only source of light, casting shadows at their feet and faintly illuminating the eggshell walls, emphasizing just how empty it is. Tommy wonders if it's weird that he's already missing Lovett's clutter and mess. Maybe it's just kind of pathetic. He lets out a hollow breath and takes a swig off the bottle. He guesses it doesn’t matter since it won’t change what’s happening—missing Lovett before he leaves won’t stop him from going.

They’re both still wearing work clothes, the clothes they went out in. Button-up shirts rolled to their elbows, loose neckties, dress slacks... Tommy abandoned his jacket when they stumbled through the door, trying and failing to stifle his laughter so he didn't wake the others. Lovett’s got his carry-on all packed for the plane, with his travel clothes folded in a pile right off the foot of the mattress that Tommy can’t stop looking at. A pair of salmon-colored shorts and a pair of Nikes and some nerdy t-shirt. Socks and underwear tucked out of the way, probably. Those aren't things he should be thinking about, but his eyes search for the hint of a waistband nonetheless. 

The lull in their conversation makes him aware of all the things left unsaid between them as he takes another drink. After a long pull, Lovett elbows him, wanting the bottle back.

It’s humid out, and Tommy rubs at the thin film of sweat along the back of his neck. “You feel ready?” 

Lovett scoffs, shaking his head. “Fifth time’s the charm, or what?” He sighs. “ _Yes,_ I’m ready. I told you. Gotta get out of this place.” Tommy notes that he doesn’t tack on the other things he’s told people about leaving D.C. for L.A.—that he’s got _opportunities_ out there now, that some people know his name and know he’s got talent that goes beyond co-writing the SOTU, that he needs to _get out_ before it’s too late, before he _can’t_ leave... that he’s been wanting to go for a while now.

Tommy makes a noise that acknowledges he understands, but isn’t happy with the situation. And so what? Sue him. He doesn’t like that Lovett’s chosen to go. At all, but especially _now._ He _is_ happy for Jon, what it means for his career, if only because his plans have lit excitement up inside him again. But selfishly, Tommy doesn't want Lovett to leave. He wants to keep him here. Keep him close.

Keep him, period.

Tommy takes the bottle again and brings it up to his mouth, still slick from Lovett’s lips, and he feels the embarrassing thrill go through him at relishing the sensation of putting his lips against something Lovett's lips had been on mere moments before; it feels so young and stupid.

“Can we talk about something else,” Lovett asks, running a hand through his hair.

Tommy grimaces even as he pulls the bottle away from his face.“Yeah. Sure, man. S’your night.” 

Sure enough, Lovett’s mouth quirks upward at that. “Damn right it is,” and takes the bottle out of Tommy’s hand. “So you have to do what I say, right?”

Tommy snorts, arms resting on bent knees, tipping his head back against the wall to smile up at the ceiling. He doesn’t think that’s a thing, but since he’s willing, he guesses it’s all the same to him. “Sure.” 

Lovett nods like he tucks that piece of information into his back pocket for safe keeping later. As if there is a “later” at 2:00 in the morning on the day he's literally moving across the country. “So you guys find another roommate yet?”

“Jesus, Lovett,” Tommy mutters, like it’s obscene. Because it _is_ obscene, the thought of some fucking congressional intern making himself at home in Lovett’s room right off the kitchen and living room feels _wrong_.

“I mean, I’m sure he’ll be great, you know? It’ll be like some kind of off-campus frat or something. You guys'll feel right at home.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, “All right, I get it. Like I've never heard that one before.”

“No, really, I’m sure he’ll totally be into your chores calendar and will watch the game with you on Sundays,” Lovett continues, painting a picture of a life without him in it in their apartment.

Tommy grits his teeth.

Lovett keeps going, “And you guys can talk about... what do straight bros talk about? We already covered how much he’s going to love sports... oh and you can talk about _chicks._ Like you had that date the other night, right?”

“Lovett,” Tommy warns, sirens going off in his head, not wanting to talk about his hook-up three nights ago. “Let’s not, okay?”

“Seriously, though, Josh from Capitol Hill is gonna _love_ talking to you about—what was her name?”

“M’serious, Lovett, let’s move on.”

“Her name, Thomas,” Lovett insists, “I need to set the scene—it’s _my_ night, remember?”

Tommy averts his eyes, cheeks burning. “Mark.” 

All the humor drains out of Lovett’s face as his eyes widen. “What?”

Tommy lets out a rough breath and hangs his head. He hadn't pictured this conversation happening like this. But now that he’s started it, he’s going to finish it. Because fuck it. Why not? There's enough booze flowing through his veins to dull the anxiety he’s felt at the mere thought of opening his mouth for weeks. Months. And if it goes sideways or south real quick, at least Lovett will be in California by tomorrow night. Right? That's what he tells himself, at least, when he says, quietly, “His name is Mark.”

Lovett turns his body to look at Tommy full-on, sitting cross-legged on the mattress. “Wait. You went out with a _guy?_ You _go out_ with guys?”

Tommy bites his bottom lip and nods, looking at the opposite wall. It’s so much easier to talk when he's not making eye contact; he feels almost weightless. “Yes. To both.”

“When—” Lovett shakes his head. “Is this a recent development, or...?”

Tommy holds out his hand and Lovett passes him the bottle immediately, the amber liquid sloshing around inside. “I, uh—” his teeth flash in something like an ironic smile. “I’m bi, Jon.”

Tommy looks over at Lovett just in time to see him close his eyes and stick out his hand like he’s trying to steady himself after being hit with this brand new information, and Tommy feels fondness rippling out to his fingertips.

“Since _when_.” It’s more a demand and less a question and it makes Tommy chuckle.

Shrugging, Tommy thinks back to the first time he heard the label. Thinks back before that, when he was pretty sure there was nothing better for him to do in History than to stare at Matt Kingston’s arms. “High school,” he says, before taking another swallow of alcohol, feeling appreciative for past-Lovett stashing the bottle in his trunk and finding it while cleaning his room. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It’s skirting along the edge of personally offended—something he expects from Lovett being kept out of the loop, like he had a right to that information and Tommy robbed him of it. But then there’s something he doesn’t expect: Lovett sounding a little hurt. Tommy looks over at him again, and Lovett’s looking at him with this entreating gaze, like he just wants to be let in. And Tommy had something all ready to say, a sort-of joke, but he doesn’t feel like joking anymore with Lovett looking at him like that. “I don’t know...” he says, his voice sounding faraway even to his own ears. “I guess,” he swallows, “I was afraid.”

“Of _me?_ ”

Tommy shakes his head. “No. Just. Of what it might... do. Or mean. Or something.”

“What do you mean? ‘What it might do?’” 

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek, thinks about how fucking transparent he is around Lovett. How he’s always the center of Tommy’s attention and always making him laugh and always, unfailingly, getting him out of the spiral of thoughts inside his own head. And how maybe that wouldn't be so fucking obvious if Tommy let Lovett assume he was straight. Then, maybe Lovett wouldn’t mind sticking around if he could be Tommy’s friend. God, that seems so... _fucking stupid_ in this moment, because Lovett _is_ fucking leaving and it’s not like any of it has done shit for Tommy up until now. 

“I mean like... I didn’t want it to fuck up anything between us,” Tommy murmurs quietly, speaking to his wrists as they dangle off his knees.

Tommy can feel Lovett’s face screw up and he grins and looks over, helpless to watching Lovett react, even when what he’s reacting to is what a dumbass Tommy is.

“I don’t have anything against bi guys,” Lovett starts to say, and that’s not what Tommy meant and he’s feeling loose enough to put his hand over Lovett’s mouth to stop him talking.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Lovett’s eyes are wide and there’s a beat of silence before he asks, muffled, Tommy’s hand still covering his mouth, “What did you mean?”

Tommy takes his hand away slowly, his fingers gently tracing Lovett’s lips as he does. The air between them is charged and thick and they both smell like booze, and so that’s what Tommy blames it on when he leans forward and kisses Lovett like he’s always wanted to. 

Lovett doesn’t hesitate at all and curls his hands in Tommy’s shirt to draw him in closer, like he knew it was going to happen and was just waiting for his cue. Like he spoke all of this into existence or saw the layout of the night’s trajectory like one of his board games. Ticket to Ride, maybe. Which is funny, given the innuendo. And the mere thought of it sets Tommy laughing into the kiss, and when Lovett asks breathlessly, “What?” Tommy can hardly explain it, between laughing and Lovett continuing to press their mouths together like the answer doesn’t really matter, or like the question was rhetorical in the first place. 

Once they start kissing, it feels hard to stop. Catching their breath feels like something they have to relearn or try consciously at, instead of melting into each other over and over again. Lovett lies back on the bed, pulling Tommy between his legs, and Tommy reaches up to touch Lovett’s face, flushed from drink and attention. He caresses the soft skin of Lovett's throat, and starts work on loosening Lovett’s tie. Lovett’s hands go right for Tommy's belt, and once he's got it undone and free from his belt loops, Lovett tosses it to the floor. It clinks loudly in the empty room, and Lovett giggles at Tommy's wide-eyed shushing; he hooks both hands around the back of Tommy’s neck and pulls him in for another kiss.

It feels _so good._ Better than he ever thought it might. Lovett's mouth is fiery and sticky-sweet and Tommy's dizzy wondering why they never did this before. Why it feels so easy and effortless, now. So right. Why did Tommy wait until the last possible fucking minute to do this? And it suddenly hits him like a mack truck, the renewed realization that Lovett's _leaving_ in a matter of hours. That there will literally be thousands of miles separating them by this time tomorrow. Tommy breaks the kiss and looks down at Lovett. At his blurry lips and the small sheen of sweat he wants to lick up from the hollow of his throat and the face he’s come to know and love and that feels like such a part of his home here; all the time lost between them feels like it's stained on Lovett's skin. _His_ skin.

"Hey," Lovett murmurs, reaching up to cup Tommy's face with one hand. "I'm right here."

Tommy turns to place a kiss against Lovett's palm before nudging their hips together and making Lovett gasp. "This okay?" Tommy needs to know, running his hands down Lovett's sides in a soothing gesture.

"Are you kidding," Lovett asks, kissing Tommy soundly. "Yes," he mumbles against Tommy's lips, wrapping his legs around Tommy's hips. "Yes."

Tommy feels something go tight in his chest; it’s something like relief and agony all tangled up together and he doesn’t know how to breathe anymore, but he has to stay in the moment, he _has_ to. He holds Lovett’s face in his hands like he’s something delicate, even though Lovett is made of much grittier stuff than him. He’s not going to let this moment go get away from him so easily because he _has_ Lovett, now. He has him tonight, and he’s not giving him up without a fight. Even if it’s just a fight before the dawn. 

“Thought of this for so long,” Tommy breathes, kissing the corner of Lovett’s jaw, the tender place beneath his ear. Lovett makes a sound like it's wrung out of his lungs and he kisses Tommy again, hungry and desperate, starting to unbutton his dress shirt. Tommy sweeps his tongue into Lovett’s mouth, trying to get to the taste of Lovett beneath the burn of alcohol. Needing to know Lovett in every way he can before he’s out of reach. Memorize him. Etch this moment onto every one of his senses so he can hold it in his hands as tangibly as Lovett himself. 

Lovett gets all Tommy's buttons undone and breaks their kiss as he sits up and starts to peel the thin cotton off his arms and chest, revealing a sleeveless undershirt and pale, freckled skin beneath. Lovett's eyes sweep up Tommy’s body, and Tommy can see the thrill go through him. Lovett grins, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip eagerly. Tommy startles out a chuckle and rolls his hips against Lovett’s. “Like what you see?” 

Lovett lets out this turned-on, breathy laugh and slips his hands under Tommy’s undershirt to feel the soft skin of his stomach beneath his palms. “Trying to get me to wax poetic about your hot bod, Vietor? It won’t work.” He tugs at the thin, flimsy cotton and says. “This thing—off. Now.”

Tommy feels his face grow hot and his pulse pick up and Lovett just tilts his head expectantly and murmurs, “It’s _my_ night, remember? You agreed to do whatever I say.”

“I _did_ say that,” Tommy says, with a small smile and a slow nod. “Okay. Well. You’re the boss.” He reaches down and slips it off in one fluid motion, dropping it off the side of the mattress.

Lovett wastes no time in pressing the flat of his tongue to Tommy’s sternum and trailing it slowly up, teasing him. “Look at you. Hiding all this under a suit that doesn’t fit is a fucking crime.”

Tommy shivers and slides his fingers into Lovett’s curls; he needs to steady himself. He feels impatient for his own exploration of Lovett, but he didn’t realize how this might feel in real-time, how high he might get just off of Lovett’s words alone. He tugs on Lovett’s hair. “M-more,” he whispers, when Lovett pulls his mouth away. 

“You get more when I say you get more,” Lovett replies, nipping along Tommy’s ribs. Tommy gasps and can feel Lovett’s smirk against his skin when he hugs Lovett closer. Tommy’s head is swimming and his mouth is dry as fuck and he’s willing to trade just about anything to have Lovett not tease him like this, even though it's _so good_ , fuck. When Lovett cranes his head to take Tommy’s nipple between his teeth and roll it gently, it’s like the air gets punched out of him and his hands start demanding things from Lovett, even as his cock twitches inside his shorts.

“Need to feel you,” Tommy mumbles, tugging at Lovett’s dress shirt. “Wanna see all of you, baby.”

Lovett’s eyes go soft and wide at _baby._ Tommy hadn’t meant to say it but he _means it_ and his tongue is loose and he has literally nothing left to lose. That look is still on Lovett's face when Tommy gets his shirt off and he chuckles, a bit proud to have shut Lovett up and make him look at Tommy in something like awe. He rolls his hips again, letting Lovett feel what all of this is doing to him. What _he’s_ doing to him. Lovett’s eyes fall closed and he tips his head back and groans, like he’s so much closer to falling apart than Tommy thought he was. And that makes Tommy harder, if it’s even possible. How he’s cutting right through Lovett’s bravado and revealing how hot Lovett is for him underneath. _God,_ what a fucking trip.

“Look so good for me like this,” Tommy babbles, tucking his face into the crook of Lovett’s neck; a trembly gasp escapes Lovett as Tommy trails his teeth over his exposed throat. 

Lovett’s hands flit around Tommy’s chest and arms, unsure where to hold onto as Tommy laves his tongue up his jugular vein and sucks the tender bit of flesh between his teeth, pulling a moan right out of him. Tommy has the fevered thought of doing this all over Lovett’s neck, of covering him in hickeys so he has to walk around in front of everyone like that, from D.C. to L.A. so people know to keep their _hands off_. It’s the stuff of his closely-guarded fantasies, and somehow, here and now in this near-empty room, on the precipice of Lovett leaving, it somehow seems within his grasp.

“Tommy,” Lovett chokes, pawing at him.

When Tommy finally does pull away, Lovett’s red all over—splotchy patterns spreading across his chest, and reaching high up into his cheeks. Tommy grins, reaching up to cup Lovett’s face in one hand, trailing his thumb across Lovett’s lower lip. Lovett’s breathing hard around something trying to be a smile. “Yeah, Jon?”

Lovett leans up and kisses Tommy, slow and deep, and all of Tommy’s thoughts screech to a halt. 

This kiss feels different. Not just slowed-down for tempo's sake, for excitement. It's not the natural flow of their bodies, or the rhythm they're still trying to find. It's like the stakes have suddenly changed. Or... not the meaning, exactly... but maybe the level of awareness of what this moment is has shifted. Like the both of them are finally looking it in its face, with the full understanding of the consequences that'll follow. The gravity. And, for his part, Tommy yields to it, gladly. Leans into it. Gives himself over to whatever exists for him on the other side of it—for _them._ He never thought any of this was even possible. Never thought he'd let himself try.

So he follows Lovett's lead, because maybe it was Lovett that had been left needing to catch up. Tommy gently eases Lovett back down onto the bed, settling himself half-on-top of him; he draws one of Lovett's hands up between them and presses it to his chest, over his sternum, holding it there. 

They stay like that for Tommy doesn't know how long, kissing and exploring each other like time doesn't matter. Like this is only the beginning, and not a goodbye.

After a while, Tommy's limbs start to grow heavy with drink, blurring the edges of his pleasure. He's still present, he's still right there with Lovett, as he rolls his body against Tommy's in that way that feels addictive and like he could be happy to do it forever. But on his periphery, Tommy can feel how late it is, how much of the bottle they drained before getting to this place together.

Lovett's got his hands in Tommy's hair when he pulls away to place an open-mouthed kiss to the tender place beneath Lovett's jaw; Lovett lets out a contented sigh and Tommy looks up to see a dreamy-looking smile spreading over his face. "Still okay," Tommy asks, slowly running his hand up and down Lovett's side.

Lovett chuckles in response, smoothing his hands up Tommy's abs and chest. "Oh, I'm great. Yeah, sure. Excellent."

Tommy gives a lop-sided half-smile and kisses Lovett one more time before rolling off of him and onto his back, groaning as his muscles protests the change in position. Lovett follows, molding himself to Tommy's side, and Tommy closes his eyes, feeling warm and a little dizzy.

" _You_ okay?" Lovett's right next to him, but his voice sounds wavy, like he's maybe across the room instead.

"Yeah," Tommy answers on a sigh, slipping his arm around Lovett and pulling him closer.

They stay like that, unmoving, and Tommy feels himself start to drift, Lovett's smooth, soft caresses against his chest lulling him into letting go of almost everything tethering him to the world.

"Tommy?"

"Yeah, Lovett," he mumbles, pressing his lips to Lovett's forehead.

"Would you come visit me?"

"In L.A.?"

"No in fucking Fort Worth."

Tommy grins at the face he can see Lovett making behind his eyelids.

Then Lovett says, quieter, "Yes, L.A."

"Sure," he yawns. "'Course I will."

Tommy doesn't remember much after that. 

When Tommy wakes, it's on a too-thin mattress to a car alarm going off across the street and sunlight splashed across his eyes. He winces and turns his face away into his arm, letting out a small whine. _Fuck._ "Shut _up_ ," he mutters, stretching out. The strange scratch of suit fabric against his legs makes him open his eyes, the night suddenly coming back to him all at once.

 _Lovett._  
_Partying with people from the White House down in Logan Circle._  
_Stumbling back to the apartment around 2:00 in the morning._  
_Drinking out of the same bottle together._  
_"I'm bi, Jon."_  
_"Why didn't you tell me?"_  
_Kissing, kissing, kissing..._  
_**Lovett.**_

Tommy lifts his head and turns to look... at the empty space in the bed next to him. "Jon?" His voice is thick from sleep, catching in his chest.

Silence.

"Lovett," he calls, louder, his pulse throbbing in his temples, a bead of sweat rolling down his spine.

Nothing.

His throat goes impossibly tight and he sits up so quickly the room seems to tilt about 45 degrees. His eyes snap shut and he covers his face with one hand, scrubbing it over his cheeks, trying desperately to wake up. His breath comes in quick puffs against his palm and he can’t fucking believe what’s happening right now. Did Lovett really just fucking _ghost him?_ After everything, but especially after _last night?_

The sting of tears is sudden and terrible and not fucking fair. He grits his teeth and lets out a feral, wounded sound. “ _Fuck,_ ” he whispers. “Fuck.” 

He sits there, on Lovett's mattress, for a few incomprehensible, heartbreaking minutes, the only accompaniment being the sounds of the neighborhood once the car alarm stops blaring. The sudden silence echoes inside the hollows of him, and he feels a mute blankness fall around his shoulders, like it's all too much and his body's trying to shield him from what's waiting, when he's more awake. When he steps fully into the moment where Lovett is gone and he'll probably never see him again. 

He looked it up the day Lovett announced he was leaving. It's more than 2600 miles to Los Angeles from D.C.

A non-stop flight is just about 6 hours.

It would take 40 hours to drive by car, not counting any stops.

It would take 64 hours by transit. Busses. Trains.

It would take over 800 hours to walk.

In that moment, all Tommy can think is, _How could he do this to me?_

His eyes burn from too-little sleep. From salt. He needs to get out of this room. He needs to crawl into a hole and not come out until he has a fucking hold on himself. No, fuck that, he needs to go for a run until his lungs burn and bile coats the back of his tongue. He needs to shock it out of his system. _He needs to get out of this room._

The loose floorboard in the hallway outside the bathroom groans and it yanks Tommy out of his spiral.

_Shit._

He quickly wipes his eyes with the pads of his thumb and middle finger and makes to get up—he can’t stand the thought of the other guys seeing him sneaking out of Lovett’s empty room like some kind of walk of shame or something. But his lethargic body won’t cooperate, and the throbbing at his temples just seems to get louder. He’s on his knees, clawing for his clothes when the door opens; Tommy freezes, eyes big and stomach bottoming out.

And there, wrapped in just a towel, his hair dripping at the ends of his curls... is Lovett.

“I used the last of your body wash because I don’t live here anymore and bourbon is fucking terrible,” Lovett explains like they’d been in the middle of a conversation, strolling right over to the mattress and snatching the towel out of the nest they’d been sleeping on.

“Jon?” His voice is scratchy and disbelieving; he feels like he can’t catch his breath.

Lovett starts scrubbing at his hair and looks down at Tommy, eyebrows lifted. “Also, you snore,” he says, matter-of-factly, like he’s proving a point.

Tommy lets out an incredulous breath that’s just short of a laugh and he scrambles to his feet so he can grab Lovett's shoulders and pull him against his body in a crushing hug.

“Hey—” Lovett yelps, squirming in his arms.

Tommy pulls away, a wild grin on his face, shaking him. “I thought you left already, you _asshole_.”

He expects sarcasm, a biting joke, but what he gets is Lovett’s whole body going pink and radiating heat, his eyes going wide then darting away. “I uh. I called and exchanged my ticket this morning.” 

It’s like someone sucks all the oxygen out of the room. It’s like the sun is suddenly shining out of his chest. It’s difficult to swallow as his smile fades into something quieter, but still hopeful. “When?”

Lovett chews on the inside of his cheek, shrugging, and says, “Tonight. Like 7-something.”

Tommy nods, his arms going around him almost instantly, pulling Lovett in against his chest, tucking his chin over the crown of his head. He lets out a shaky breath. _Okay,_ he thinks, even though it’s pretty fucking far from okay. _It’s better than nothing._

“Did you... mean it? Last night?” Lovett’s voice is so small in Tommy’s ears, against his skin. Hesitant. Vulnerable. 

“Which part,” he asks, against Lovett’s hair.

“All of it."

Tommy sighs and closes his eyes. Focuses on the way their bodies fit together. The way he felt last night. “Yeah. All of it.”

“Oh. Cool.” Lovett’s voice is distant and airy. “Cool.”

Brow furrowing, Tommy puts a sliver of space between them, enough to look down at him, catch his eyes. “Is that—good? Okay?”

“I guess it depends,” Lovett says, a smile Tommy’s never seen playing around his mouth. “You’ve got an unlimited cell plan, right? Still racking up those frequent flier miles?”

Tommy startles out a laugh and leans in to kiss him. Lovett hums into it, pressing his hips flush against Tommy’s and rolling them together. Teasing and perfect.


End file.
